Dare to Submit (Dare to Love #4)(34)
Author: Carly Phillips

Decklan winced. Seeing it from Brad’s perspective, Decklan realized he had come up as short as her best friend had. He ran a hand over his head and groaned.

“For what it’s worth, I came out to my father,” Brad said as he rose from his seat. “Amanda and I have to attend one last event as a couple Friday afternoon. Then my father has an interview scheduled to air that night, where he plans to reveal everything. After that, we’re free. She’s free.” He treated Decklan to a deliberate pause. “It’s up to you what you do about it.”

* * *

Amanda and Brad flew to New York for the luncheon with the Ritter family. She arrived the day before the event and stayed the night in her rented apartment. The sadness that engulfed her in D.C. followed her here. In fact, it was worse in New York, because she knew how physically close Decklan was. Ironically, he’d never been further away.

She’d bared herself for him in all possible ways, and he’d all but sent her away. He knew she was sorry and wanted to make their relationship work. The ball was in his court, and his silence spoke volumes.

One more event for the senator and she could leave Manhattan and never come back. She promised herself that, after today, she’d no longer think about horse-drawn carriage rides with the man of her dreams, orgasms that went on with no end, or erotic uses for ice cream and hot fudge.

For now, she had to focus on this luncheon. She chose a simple black-and-white dress, a pair of black pumps, and no statement jewelry. There was no need to draw attention to herself. This was a requisite photo op for the senator, and it would be the last time she’d have to play this charade in public.

It was also the first time she’d be with Brad’s family since he’d come out to his father. From what Brad had told her, both his parents had taken the news in stride and were determined to make the best of their son’s decision to go public with his sexual orientation. They’d deal with party politics and blowback as it came up.

The first step in the plan was an interview with Jessica Conrad, an interviewer known for pro-right leanings regarding economics, but her social views were much more liberal. Knowing they would get a sympathetic ear, the senator had chosen her for their family interview.

Luckily, Amanda was excused from that particular event; however, she’d been warned to expect phone calls from the media wanting to interview her about her role as Bradley’s cover. The senator had put someone in charge of handling them and deciding which, if any, interviews would be beneficial to the campaign. If they decided Amanda needed to speak, they planned to give her media training before sending her out to deal with them. She hoped like hell they decided she had nothing of value to offer the press and turned down every opportunity offered.

In the meantime, she waited for the town car hired to pick her up and take her to lunch, wondering when this feeling weighing her down would finally go away. Breakups sucked, yet another reason she was glad she’d avoided relationships for as long as she had. She didn’t have to worry about future heartbreak. She couldn’t imagine opening her heart to anyone ever again. Never mind the fact that she couldn’t picture herself feeling half as much for another man as she did for Decklan.

Lunch was an awkward event at an out-of-the-way restaurant not even Brad’s mother, Nancy, a New York regular, had heard of. Apparently, Mitchell Dawson had chosen the place, claiming the donor they were wining and dining preferred his privacy. Mitchell himself was sullen and clearly still upset with the senator’s plans, and he was outright cold to Brad. His silent fury, anger, and dislike emanated off the man in waves, and Amanda was grateful when he excused himself early, claiming he had a scheduled phone call he had to take. With Mitchell gone, the mood around the table lifted, and Amanda was able to finish her meal.

Unfortunately, he met them outside the restaurant, immediately pulling the senator away for a private talk. As a good politician’s wife, Brad’s mother, Nancy, engaged the sponsor in conversation, leaving Brad and Amanda alone.

“Thanks for this last supper,” Brad said.

Amanda laughed at his joke. “You’re welcome. I’m glad it’s almost over. I hope the interview goes smoothly for you.”

He shrugged. “It’ll go how it’ll go. I’m not looking forward to anything but it being over. I’ll deal with the media frenzy and get on with my life. What about you?”

“What about me? I’ll do whatever your father needs with the press. I’ll be at work. I’m not going to let my professional life fall apart just because my personal one did. I’m sorry I flaked out on you this week.”

Brad frowned. “Don’t apologize. I put you in a horrible position and should have ended this charade years ago.”

She wrinkled her nose. “What are you talking about? This worked out for us both, at least until recently. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

He grasped her hand. “Decklan was right. It was a selfish arrangement and—”

“Wait. You spoke to Decklan? When?”

A loud crack rent the air before Brad could answer. Amanda screamed as blood blossomed on Brad’s chest and his face froze in terror. He grabbed his shirt, and a rush of red fluid immediately oozed through his fingers, snapping Amanda out of her shock.

“Oh my God!” she screamed. “Brad! Help! He’s been shot!” She dropped him to his side, unsure of what to do. How to stop the bleeding. She pressed her hands on top of his, a sob catching in her throat as her fingers turned scarlet and wet.

Nancy shot to her son’s side, pressing her hands over Amanda’s. “Call 9-1-1!”

Shaking, Amanda slid her slick hands from beneath Nancy’s. She wiped her hands down her dress and retrieved her cell. All the while, his mother spoke to him, her voice soothing and calm, begging him to keep his eyes open. To remain conscious.

Amanda’s vision blurred as she dialed, and she shook while she waited for an answer. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Mitchell had pushed the senator down, covering his body with his own.

The minute the dispatcher answered, Amanda focused on answering the questions the operator asked. After what seemed like the longest minutes in history, the wail of an ambulance finally broke through the madness around her.

“Thank God.”

EIGHTEEN

Decklan had asked Max to meet him at the club. He hadn’t been to the place since the last time he’d met up with Amanda there. He hadn’t missed it either. But he couldn’t help but admit it felt good to be here now, nursing a soda and waiting for his best friend. Especially when he’d come to a decision about Amanda and he had time to kill before he could do anything about it. He didn’t want alcohol dulling his senses when he dealt with Amanda later on.